A Language She Doesn't Speak
by JessicaJones
Summary: Morrigan joined the Warden for one reason, but some relationships are complicated.


_My Cousland is kind of a jerk..._

* * *

...

Morrigan had seduced him because she thought it would make it easier. She was not in the habit of seeking the company of men, or anyone, for that matter— Flemeth had soured her on the idea a long time ago— but she thought if she acquainted herself with him, in that way, it would make things simpler, when the time came. When she revealed her true purpose.

He slept beside her peacefully, his head on crossed arms, chest to the ground. His skin was bare to his waist, and she admired the swell of his muscles in repose. The Cousland boy was attractive enough for some, she thought. Certainly he was better suited to her than the idiot blond. He had thick brown hair like his brother and the narrow, heart-shaped mouth of his mother. She had never met them, obviously; she knew this because he had told her. He told her a lot of things. The Warden liked to share.

It had been laughingly easy to snare him. Despite all his strength and bravado, the Warden was a man like any other. After the death of his parents, and the elven girl who shared his bed, and in all likelihood, his dear brother, he wore his loneliness like a weight around his neck. He had been happy to unburden himself with her.

There was something in him that responded to something in her, and she did not fully understand what it was. Whenever he happened upon a necklace or some other pretty thing, he had thought to give it to her; she got the impression that this was something men did for women they admired. When she had tendered her own gift in return, he had taken it as a fair trade. For her part, he fit her needs. He had even killed her mother for her. Possibly just for the sport of it, but it meant he cared enough to hear her speak, which was more than most.

She found herself tracing the line of his spine with her finger. It was a strange thing to do, and she did not know why she did it. When she reached the small of his back she rested her hand there and felt his breath rising and falling, the warmth of his young skin, the pulsing of his tainted blood. He stirred and she removed her hand quickly.

"How long have you been awake?" he mumbled, shifting to his back to look at her.

"For a space," she admitted. "I did not mean to disturb you, Warden."

He scowled at her, his brow creasing. "You can call me Aedan, I think, at this point." He chuckled a little and added, "Or not. Morrigan is a mouthful, you know. I could just call you 'witch' if you want to stick to titles."

She rolled her eyes. He was constantly trying to disarm her, using something that probably passed as charm with the servant girls at his castle. It annoyed her how effective it could be. "I've been thinking about what Eamon said," she said. She had _not_, actually, but it was something to say, to steer the conversation away from their relationship. "Does he really intend to put that simpleton on the throne?"

"Apparently. It's preposterous." The Warden… Aedan… presented her a cocky grin. He had very good teeth, she thought, and then she thought that was a stupid thing to admire about someone. "Don't get me wrong, I like the guy… yes, I know that you _don't… _but we can both agree, he's not a leader." He smiled again and pushed himself to a sitting position. Sitting cross-legged, one arm resting easily on his knee, he seemed so comfortable in his own skin. Comfortable with _her, _she realized.

"Eamon hopes Alistair will do as he's told," Aedan said. "Which he will, of course, being Alistair. He doesn't even _want _to be king, but he will rise to it, if it comes to that." He grabbed her hand, spontaneously. This sort of touching was his habit, and she was slowly growing accustomed to it. "Luckily, I have another plan."

"Oh?" she said, her lip twitching into a smile. Aedan had a ruthless streak that she _did _admire, and his plans were usually entertaining.

His eyes sparkled. "I am going to propose to Anora, and take the crown myself."

Morrigan sat back, startled. _Like looking into a mirror, _she thought, remembering the golden trinket he had given her, its polished surface reflecting an innocence she could barely recall. Until that instant, she had not known how completely they shared the same hunger for power. She wanted to feel kinship with him for this, to have a laugh at Alistair's expense, but for reasons she could not express, she felt unsettled, instead.

It was the same feeling as when there was an animal form she could not master, as it had been with the hawk shape she coveted so much. It would have been so useful to fly like that, to be able to see so clearly into the distance and attack with such precision, but there had been an element to it she could not perceive, some secret beyond her reckoning, and the spell had been regretfully abandoned.

"Don't tell me you're jealous_._"

"No," she said quickly, her face closing. Not that she would recognize that feeling, if it came to her. He had never given her cause before. The insipid Orlesian was beneath his notice, and despite the elf's shameless advances, the Warden had other tastes_. _But Anora… Morrigan considered the cutthroat Queen, her snapping eyes that held more than beauty. Yes, she would appeal to him. Morrigan forced a careless shrug. "I am simply astonished that you expect me to approve."

He frowned. "You don't?"

"Abstractly, I suppose I do," she agreed. "You are a noble from a strong family and you have a chance for more power. You should take it." Her eyes narrowed. "But I cannot appreciate being discarded so readily. I hardly thought this would last forever, but I had hoped that it would end with a little more dignity_._"

He looked completely baffled, and she wondered why. It was normal for her to respond like this, wasn't it? She thought this must be how any self-respecting woman would behave, given the circumstances, but then, she had few points of reference. This sort of emotional commingling was foreign to her. There were rules of engagement, a set of social cues she had never learned, and perhaps she had misunderstood his intentions.

"I didn't think you'd care," he said eventually.

No, she decided; it _was _a normal response. It was only that he thought that she was not, that her strange _otherness _meant she was insulated from even these basic emotions. True, she had fostered this impression, but somehow it still bothered her. That feeling. She readjusted their relationship in her mind, realizing that to him she was not a person, but an oddity, a curio he kept for his amusement.

"I do _not_ care," she snapped back, although it was plain to both of them, in that moment, that she did.

He realized his mistake too late and tried to fix it, as men do, with a tangle of ill-chosen words. "It doesn't have to end," he offered. "The marriage would be politics, only, I'm sure you realize that. You could stay with me, Morrigan, as my…" he fumbled for the word, "lover."

She shuddered when he said it, and when she felt his fingers grasping for her, she flinched away. _Lover_ was a word too similar to that other one, the word that made her so uncomfortable. He did not understand, of course; he just kept _talking_. "It's done often enough. Apparently even by a goody-goody like Maric."

She stared down at her hands, felt the mana pooling there as she nursed her rage. "I have no interest in being your kept woman," she said hotly. Not that she even _could _be, as she knew that she would be far from Denerim, by then, but there was her pride to consider. "'Tis well past time you left my tent, _Warden_. I will not suffer apologies. This," she gestured at the air and let him figure out exactly what _this_ was, "will not happen again."

The Warden's mouth clamped shut, and he nodded. Grabbing fistfuls of his rumpled clothing, he walked into the night like a dog with its tail tucked between his legs.

She sighed as the tent flap fluttered shut behind him. Morrigan knew that her angry declaration was a lie: it _would _happen again, at least once, anyway. Aedan Cousland placed a high value on himself, that much was clear, and he was not especially encumbered by duty or any vague morality. When the time came for her ritual of salvation, she was sure that he would consent. And eagerly. That knowledge should have put her at ease, but she found, instead, that it made her skin crawl.

Morrigan had seduced him because she thought it would make it easier. As it turned out, it had not.

...


End file.
